


Boomerang

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Non-Stop Gifts/AUs [10]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Accidents, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lafayette's Parents, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What goes up, must come down. And it always comes back to you. </p><p>_____</p><p>While living in France with the Lafayettes, Hercules' parents give him a set of boomerangs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boomerang

**Author's Note:**

> A graduation present for the lovely asexual-octopus.

Hercules’ parents brought them back from Australia. One red like the roses in Maman’s garden. One blue like the lamborghini in Pére’s garage. Hercules’ likes the red one the best, so he keeps it for himself. Gives the blue one to Gil when he returns to France. Grinning proudly as he bestows the gift to his best friend. 

Gil takes it carefully. Hands slowly sliding up and down the sides of the boomerang. Feeling the edges. Stroking the wood. Hercules’ ma and da had gone over everything he needed to know about the history of the boomerang. And just how dangerous they could be if they weren’t cared for appropriately. 

So, naturally, they set up a row of glass bottles in Gil’s backyard. Maman’s at a conference and Pére is busy doing something in town. Pierre’s got a cold of some sort. Has been hacking for days according to Gil. Usually a  _ tad  _ more mindful of what they’re up to, Pierre waved them off instead. Blowing his nose and wrapping a thick blanket around his shoulders. 

_ “Try  _ not to kill yourselves,” he manages to get out. Accent so thick and disfiguring, that Hercules needs Gil to translate for him. 

Of everyone in the household, Pierre has the most fluent English. And he usually speaks it to Hercules. But right now he’s apparently feeling far too ill to deal with all of that. He flounders about in French. Hugs his blanket tight, and lays down in the sun room. Leaned up against the windows. Looking for all the world as though he intended to watch them play. But falling asleep mere moments later. Oblivious to their shenanigans.  

The glass bottles came from Maman’s cupboard. Hercules asks Gil if he’s  _ certain  _ his parents won’t mind them using the bottles for target practice, and Gil promises they won’t care at all. They never get mad at anything. So what does it matter anyway? 

Shrugging, Hercules goes along with the plan. They set up the bottles, and they start throwing the boomerangs. 

They’re hilariously awful at it. The boomerangs flop to the ground time and again. Never once returning. Never once even looking like they might return. They don’t go anywhere near the bottles. Don’t even seem to be contemplating an interaction with their targets. 

If anything, the whole concept of boomerangs seem to be lost entirely. With each flick of the wrist, they only seem to be getting worse. Hercules is tempted to run back inside and fetch a frisbee instead. At least that way they could play with it. These are just sideways sticks that don’t even fly nice. 

Gil’s determined to make something happen with them. He tries throwing it sideways. Vertically. With his wrist. With his arm. Nothing is working, and he’s growing more irritated with each passing second. Aggression mounting so every fourth word is a curse, and every tenth is an exclamation. 

“These cannot possibly be so difficult,” Gil complains. He pulls his arm back and lets loose. The boomerang does an admirable job of smashing straight into the dirt. 

Already they’ve put dents and dings into the lawn. The groundskeeper’s going to have a fit when he see the mess they’ve made. Hercules yawns tiredly and peers over his shoulder to where Pierre can  _ just  _ be seen dozing in the window. He’s feeling a little hungry, and it’d be nice to have some lunch soon. 

“Maybe we should look it up?” Hercules suggests. There’s got to be someone they can ask about this kind of thing. Pierre probably knows. He knows  _ everything.  _ Maybe even Maman or Pére would know. They can ask after they get home tonight. 

Gil gives him a frustrated look. Frowning heavily as Hercules gives his boomerang one last throw. It doesn’t get very far. Honestly, maybe it’s all rumors and camera angles. How do you hunt with a boomerang anyway? Doesn’t make any sense. What an inefficient weapon. 

Sighing, Hercules trots out to get his toy. He plucks it from the ground. Rubs it off on his pants to get some of the dirt from it’s legs. He turns to watch as Gil adjusts his stance one final time. Pulls his arm back in a new direction, and then releases. 

Say what you will about Gil’s tenacity, but this time— the boomerang  _ flies.  _ They both stare at it, mouths falling open in shock as the boomerang soars through the air. Rotating in perfect spirals, picking up speed and  _ arcing  _ in a perfect crescent. It flew high up to the sky, and Hercules sees the problem before it even happens. 

“Oh shit—”

_ “—Merde!” _

It lands perfectly on the roof of the garage. 

Both boys stand awkwardly in the field, looking at the building and its captured prize with matching faces of distress. Hercules tries to think where the last place he saw a ladder was. And he doesn’t even know where any of the staff are today. It’s a day off for most of them, and he wouldn’t expect the cooks to have any idea where the grounds things were. 

He shares a quick look with Gil, and Gil licks his lips as he analyzes the situation. “I can get it,” he decides. Hercules nods, and follows after him. 

Initially he supposed that Gil would fetch a stick. A branch maybe. Something he can knock the boomerang down with. A ladder to climb up was the safest idea. And even throwing rocks in an attempt to dislodge it would have seemed better than Gil’s plan. 

He rounds about to the side of the garage and starts putting hand over hand up the stone siding. “What the hell are you doing?” Hercules asks, reaching out and dragging his friend back to the ground. Gil blinks at him. Eyes wide. Confused. 

“Getting the boomerang?” he asks slowly. As if his intentions weren’t obvious enough. 

“ _ No.  _ What are you doing climbing up there? That’s dangerous!” It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Gil just grins brightly. 

“I can get it!” he insists, and turns to climb back up. Hercules, shamefully, hesitates. He sounds serious. Like he’s done this before. Wouldn’t be so bad if that were the case. And as he watches, Gil  _ does  _ look like he’s climbed to the roof a time or two. He doesn’t take his time. Just knows instinctively where the best hand hold is. 

Still. 

“If you fall I’m not gonna get help,” Hercules warns. 

“I’m not going to fall!  _ Tu...enfant _ …” Gil mumbles the last part, but Hercules can hear just enough to get the meaning. 

“I’m not a baby!” Gil pauses in his climb and glances down at him. 

“ _ Oui, tu es.”  _

“I am not!” Gil’s laughing at him. Nearing the roof and showing little signs of slowing. He pulls himself up over the gutter. Hands and knees scraping along the asphalt shingles. Hercules takes a few steps back so he can see more clearly, and bites his lip as Gill walks confidently toward the boomerang. 

Confidently, until he steps on a few leaves, and slips. He falls down hard, butt and back landing on the roof in quick succession. The pitch steep enough that he starts sliding right away. Hercules yelps, feeling like a squirrel caught in the road. Running in circles with no idea where to go or what to do. 

Gil slides faster. His hands scramble for purchase anywhere possible. One manages to wrap around the boomerang and drag it with him as he starts to fall, but it gets caught on something and jerks out of his grip  _ hard.  _

The result, which Hercules  _ knew  _ was going to happen, is Gil falling clear off the roof. He slips off the edge with nothing to hold onto, and drops thirteen feet onto the grassy lawn. Hitting the ground and not moving at all. 

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Hercules runs over. Kneeling at Gil’s side and shaking his arm roughly. 

Eyes open, Gil’s completely unresponsive. Just stares up at him as if he weren’t even there. Terror spikes through Hercules’ body and he propels himself to his feet. Running back to the house screaming Pierre’s name like it’s the only thing that can set this right. 

He throws himself against the front door. Rounds the bend and rushes to the window seat. Pierre’s already started waking up. Likely heard the ruckus as Hercules ran in. He blinks wearily toward him.  _ “...vas bien?”  _ he asks wearily, slurring so unlike himself. 

“Gil fell off the roof!” Hercules gets out in a rush. Pierre stares at him. Blinking slowly. Normally rapid fire brain clearly not translating appropriately. “ _ Gil est tombé du toit!”  _ That gets Pierre up and moving. He stands sharply, blankets tangling around his body. He kicks them aside and motions with his hand, and Hercules turns on his heels and runs. 

Pierre follows after him, coughing even as he tries to keep up. He must spot Gil’s body soon enough, because he eventually picks up speed and passes Hercules. Long strides carrying him over effortlessly. Kneeling at Gil’s side, Pierre places one hand over the boy’s heart. The other on his face. 

He speaks Gil’s name slowly, rubbing the hand on Gil’s chest up and down. Hercules read somewhere you weren’t supposed to move people with head or back injuries, and Pierre’s careful now. He’s talking to Gil effortlessly. Calmly, and Hercules can see Gil moving. His hands twitching and mouth opening and closing.

Stunned. He seems  _ stunned _ that he’d fallen in the first place. Is still staring at the sky dumbly. “ _ Gil...Peux tu respirer?”  _ Pierre asks him gently. He gets a slight shake of a head in response. Carefully,  _ carefully,  _ Pierre finally starts moving. He runs a hand along what he can feel of Gil’s neck. His head. He asks Gil to move his legs. Asks if there’s any pain. There’s not. If anything, Gil’s now starting to panic. Hands jolting off the ground and mouth opening and closing uselessly. 

Nodding, Pierre helps hoist Gil upright. Braces his back and  _ orders  _ Gil to breathe. As though that was going to solve anything. 

Hercules watches, biting his lip and shifting his weight from one foot to another. Terrified and uncertain. He wishes he knew what he could do. Wishes there was something he can say to make anything better. 

But Pierre seems to have everything under control. Despite the initial fright of discovering what had happend, he’s back to being calm. Carefully mitigating the situation. “When you strike your back hard, it will blow air from your lungs, yes?” he asks. Hercules has no idea who he’s talking to. “He is out of breath, but he is fine. Bruised, but fine. Yes?” 

“Y...yes…” Gil gets out, gulping for air as his lungs finally start to fill. “Hurts,” he whines suddenly. Looking up at Gil with bright eyes. Now that he can breathe, apparently he can also cry. He devolves immediately. Leaning forward and crying against Pierre’s chest as he shifts his grip and starts to loop his arms around Gil’s body. 

Hercules feels sorely out of place. Watching as Pierre hoists Gil up, coughing the whole while. He’s got snot on his face from where he can’t wipe it with his hands full, and his eyes are still glassy with fever. 

Still, he carries Gil back inside and upstairs to the bathroom. Strips him down and readies a bath. Checking him over meticulously for hidden injuries they should be more concerned with. Gil’s lucky, Hercules thinks. 

Not many people just bounce after they fall from a roof, but that seems to be exactly what he did. Fell, and bounced. 

He’s battered a little. Bruised from shoulderblades to tail bone. But he’s going to be fine. 

Hercules isn’t even surprised when Gil starts making demands and bossing everyone around because he’s too weak and infirm to do it himself. Pierre even caters to it.  _ Spoiled child, _ Hercules thinks savagely, arms crossing over his chest. 

“You shouldn’t have climbed up there,” Hercules tells him. 

_ “Cur non?”  _ Gil asks him seriously. As if his body wasn’t exhibits A through Z all on its own. 

“Because you make people worry! And you could have died!” Gil just blinks at him. Smiles. 

“Thank you for being my friend,” he says. 

As if that’s the correct response to Hercules’ worry. Pére and Maman come home that night. They ask Gil how his day was, and he tells them he fell from the roof. They ask what he learned, and he says not to fall off the roof again. The matter is closed, and Hercules half wonders if Pierre’s going to commit homicide one of these days. For when Gil’s parents turn to retire for the evening, Pierre is still standing at Gil’s side. Hands clenched and mouth pressed tightly together. 

They ask Pierre if he’s coming with them, and he says no. Both appear slightly taken aback by his comment, not used to him disagreeing. Especially when he doesn’t feel well. But instead, Pierre stays with Hercules and Gil instead. They watch movies all night. Maman and Pére sometimes joining them for a few minutes here or there before eventually retiring. 

Hercules said it before and he’ll say it again.  _ France is weird.  _


End file.
